


All Through The Night

by MissAquarius



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Minor Character Death, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAquarius/pseuds/MissAquarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I had money, my friend wouldn’t have died!” – our suffering shapes us like heat shapes glass, whether we like it or not. This is the story of how Leorio Paladiknight was shaped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Through The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my fic for the HxH Big Bang. I've wanted to write something about Leorio's background for ages, since it's not really discussed that much in the manga, and when I heard about HXHBB, I knew that was the perfect excuse to get started. Most of this is canon divergent.
> 
> My paired artist for this work is neambus (tumblr) and I haven't seen their artwork for this fic yet, but I will link it here when it's been posted. They have lots of other great artwork which you should check out on their blog.
> 
> EDIT: OMG Y'ALL I'M YELLING THE ARTIST POSTED THEIR ARTWORK AND I'VE NEVER FELT SO BLESSED!!!! IT'S HERE: http://neambus.tumblr.com/post/145771435513/all-through-the-night-im-late-but-heres-my

Leorio was twelve-years-old when Pietro died. No need to apologise, honestly, it’s _fine_ now. It was a long time ago. He can talk about it.

 

             (Probably.)

 

             It was tuberculosis. Of course, they didn’t know that back then. But, looking back on it with all the medical knowledge he has now, it was obvious. Leorio had seen him cough up blood a few times, but Pietro would just wipe it on his ratty tank top and go about his day. Leorio hadn’t worried because Pietro hadn’t, and because the adults hadn’t either. Until they had.

 

             Pietro had always been more frail than the other boys. He couldn’t run around the dirt roads all day like the others could, he always got tired and needed a rest sooner or later. Their favourite games were chasing and football, the latter usually involving some rolled up cloth and chalk to mark the goal posts. It wasn’t much, but it was what they had, and it made them feel big. Leorio had long since decided that that was the point of games.

 

             Pietro could never last a whole game. He didn’t have a lot of friends because of it. No-one wanted to play with the sissy. Leorio didn’t mind it, though. He didn’t mind taking a breather every once in a while with his favourite friend.

 

             “Sorry again, Leorio,” Pietro would say, pale chest heaving from overexertion. “I know it must be annoying to always have to sit out with me like this. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know.”

 

             And Leorio would balk at that and reply, “And leave my best friend on his own? Not on your life.”

 

             He’d stand in front of Pietro with feet apart, hands on his hips like a great and proud sea captain.

 

             “What do I always say, Pietro? Like otters in a river, like birds and flight—“

 

             “Yeah, I know. Friends stick together, all through the night.”

 

             “That’s right!”

 

             Pietro would giggle. “But Leorio, it’s daytime.”

 

             “I know that, silly! Ma says the last line is about friends sticking together through tough times or whatever.”

 

             “That’s mushy.”

 

             “I know, right? Let’s play some more. It’s nearly sunset and we’ll get in trouble if we’re caught playing after dark.”

 

* * *

  

             Leorio wakes up one morning when his youngest sister Marie kicks him in the back. His annoyance blooms along with the ache in his back, but he grits his teeth and bears it. It’s not her fault. You can’t avoid a misplaced arm or leg when it’s eight to a bed, and he’s certainly not innocent of an accidental thump in the night.

 

             Mom’s making breakfast downstairs, Leorio can smell it. He’d better get up anyway.

 

             Leorio hoists his wiry frame onto a hard wooden chair at the dining table, which has already been set. He rubs the crusty sleep from his eyes, wishing his mother a good morning.

 

             “Breakfast will be ready in a minute. You’re lucky you’re not the first one up, else you’d have been saddled with setting the plate. Nico’s still in a huff about having to do it.”

 

             “Nico’s always in a huff about something, Ma,” Leorio reminds her. Which is true, by the way. Nico would tell you differently, but he always has something to say, and he always has to have the last word.

 

             Leorio studies the dents and divots in the table. Some are sharp and stand out against the wood, others are worn smooth from time. _Nico’s annoying sometimes_ , Leorio thinks, _but he’s my brother, so I suppose I_ have _to love him._

 

             The rest of the family descends, one by one, to the kitchen as the crackling sound of fried bacon travels through the house. Leorio counts them as they take their seats – Nico, the eldest, tall and lean, the image of his father except for his mother’s jet black hair. Then the twins Uriel and Franka, sweet but quiet, their olive skin and long brown hair a stark contrast to Nico’s colouring. They have a calming presence which Leorio greatly values when fights break out.

 

             Vetti is a loudmouthed little brat who always got what she wanted and screams the house down when she didn’t. Luckily, she is starting to even out her attitude, while Ma says it is just a teenager phase. Esther and Dreena are three years apart but they act more twinlike than Uriel and Franka. They spend all day together talking about the prince of this country and the duke of that country. They have convinced themselves that they too are destined for royalty, and act every inch of it. And finally Marie, Pop’s little girl. She’s the youngest so she’s spoiled anyway. Marie is the sweetest thing since sugar, without Vetti’s bad attitude. Pop, of course, is already at work.

 

             Esther and Dreena sit either side of Leorio, chattering like crows about some princess or another. _We want the finer things in life,_ they always say, _boys just don’t understand._

 

             Breakfast passes in relative silence – not a heavy silence, with a spiteful family who don’t talk to each other – but in a cloudy haze that accompanies a recent sleep. Cutlery clatters against dishes, molars sloppily munch through a meal.

 

             (A lot of people gasp and swear when they hear how big Leorio’s family is, but they’re just not used to it. Leorio wouldn’t have it any other way. Having a small army of siblings is a godsend when grief sweeps through— but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.)

 

             As Ma helps Marie cut her bacon, Leorio can’t help but stare as he chews his food thoughtfully. His mother is a small, stout woman, built for practicality. Her strong arms are the result of years of housework and child-rearing, her beautiful black hair a testimony to her younger, freer years. Although it is long and shiny, she keeps it piled on top of her head, out of reach of mischievous toddlers.

 

             Ma’s belly is starting to strain the fabric of her floral print dress. He’ll have another sibling soon. He hopes it’s a boy – Uriel and Nico are both older than him, so Leorio wants a little brother.

 

             He tells his mother so. Nico scowls, but his mother chuckles and says, “We certainly don’t need _another boy_ in the house, Leo. But I wouldn’t worry if I were you, aren’t you and Pietro as close as brothers?”

 

 _Pietro!_ How could he forget? They had arranged to play again today. With his friend in mind, he shoves the rest of his food onto Dreena’s plate, excusing himself from the table.

 

             He hurries upstairs, pulling his pyjama top up over his head. He hums a song he heard Esther listening to the other day on her record player (a _very_ expensive birthday gift) and dresses quickly in whatever he can find tossed around his bedroom. Descending once more down the stairwell, Leorio grabs his raggedy grey runners – they had belonged to Uriel before him, so they had been well loved – and slips them on with ease. With a quick goodbye to his family, he’s out in the sunbaked street, sunlight briefly blinding him.

 

             Leorio hums Esther’s song to himself as he turns and begins the journey to Pietro’s house. He’s pretty sure he could get there with his eyes closed – a left turn and twenty-seven paces. He’s counted. More than once.

 

             It’s mostly quiet at this hour. The men have left already for the mines, and the huge machinery groans and heaves and sighs in the distance. If Leorio climbs up a tall tree, he can just about make out the mine’s entrance over the hills.

 

             He’s not sure how to describe the village. It’s all very… beige. All the buildings are the same colour as the ground. There’s lots of dust. Some houses have glass windows, but not all. Glass is expensive, and what can glass do that a good slat of wood can’t? The street is tightly packed soil and sand, nothing like the capital city, according to Pop. The people here aren’t rich, but that’s okay. They have each other, and that’s enough, according to Ma.

 

             Leorio kicks a piece of flint with the toe of his shoe. _At least it isn’t Meteor City._ He’s heard stories about that place – that it’s literally just piles and piles of rubbish, that only orphans live there, that you’ll be killed if you so much as look at someone the wrong way there.

 

             He is so lost in his thoughts on running away to Meteor City, just to see if the stories are true (bringing Pietro with him, _of course_ ) that he almost walks right by his best friend’s house. When his focus finally shifts back to reality, Leorio takes in his surroundings and—

 

             Pietro’s front door is open. Why is Pietro’s front door open?

 

             Leorio strolls over to the wooden door swinging slightly in the breeze. He raps his dirty knuckle on it twice and presses his ear to the gap between the door and the frame. “Hello?” he asks loudly. “Mrs Fortuna? Pietro? Anyone home?”

 

             The silence that follows sets Leorio’s heart beating faster. Pietro’s house, like his own, is _never_ quiet. Leorio pushes the door open more, sticking enough of his head inside to peek around the room inside.

 

             It takes a few seconds for Leorio’s eyes to adjust from the overwhelming brightness of the dirt road in the morning sun to the darkness of the kitchen. At first, he can only make out vague outlines of furniture and shadows. When his sight finally gets used to the change, he steps inside and quietly closes the door behind him. There are three grown-ups crowded around the sofa, huddled together over it as if it had suddenly gained the power of human speech.

 

             Two of the grown-ups are people Leorio knows well. They’re Pietro’s parents, and Leorio has never seen them look so worried. Mrs Fortuna’s hair has been haphazardly pulled back into her signature bun, although several strands have come loose and now hang around her face. Her hand is placed over her mouth, her eyes bulging with fear. The combination of silent panic and obvious fatigue is upsetting and Leorio’s hands start to sweat. Mr Fortuna’s face is stony, as always, but has taken on a darker expression. Leorio doesn’t like the sudden sickening unease that overtakes him.

 

             The other adult wears a white coat – a doctor! Only doctors could afford to keep something like that so clean. The coat is almost glaringly white. It looks out-of-place in the dusty village Leorio knew so well. The doctor kneels in front of the sofa, retrieving a gleaming silver stethoscope from the inside of his coat. It is then that Leorio catches sight of the cause of all this worry. Pietro is lying on the sofa, eyes closed and underlined with grey, skin awfully pale, his bare chest rising and falling in a rhythm that’s too fast for comfort. The rest of his best friend’s body is disturbingly still.

 

             Leorio can’t stay silent anymore. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Pietro?”

 

             As soon as he speaks, the grown-ups immediately snap their heads towards him, with the exception of Mr Fortuna, who keeps his sightless gaze on his son. Mrs Fortuna’s eyes soften slightly at the sight of Leorio.

 

             “Leorio,” she sighs. “I didn’t even hear you come in, sweetheart.” She clears her throat before continuing. “Pietro’s sick. But the doctor is going to make him better, right dear?”

 

             She turns to her husband with a flimsy smile. Mr Fortuna has made no move to acknowledge Leorio’s existence. He is still staring at Pietro. The doctor stares at Leorio but says nothing. He’s a funny looking man, balding slightly with a comically large, hooked nose. His small grey eyes seem detached, disinterested in the sick child.

 

             Mrs Fortuna deflates and turns back to Leorio. “Pietro can’t play today. He needs time to get better. In a few days, he’ll be right as rain, so be patient until then. You’d better get on back to your mother.”

 

             Leorio ignores her and walks over to where his friend lies. He leans down and takes Pietro’s hand – it’s uncomfortably hot and sweaty. Leorio’s brow furrows as he runs his thumb over the tiny knuckles. He’s never truly noticed until now just how _delicate_ Pietro is. His ribs show through his chest. His collarbones are clearly visible and his fingers are long and thin.

 

             Pietro must have felt Leorio’s grip, because his eyes flutter before laboriously sliding open. The grown-ups immediately crowd around him once more, but all Leorio can hear is the thick sound of Pietro swallowing. “Leorio,” he croaks.

 

             Leorio bites his bottom lip to stop himself from crying. He’s never seen Pietro like this, so lifeless and weak. “Hey, pal,” Leorio whispers, squeezing Pietro’s hand. “How you feelin’?”

 

             “I’ve been better.”  Pietro’s voice is crackly and dry. He blinks slowly.

 

             Leorio has to take a big inhale before he speaks again. He will _not_ cry. “Your mom says you’re sick. But you promised we’d play hide-and-go-chase, so get better soon.”

 

             Pietro cracks a bloodless smile. “Sorry.”

 

             Leorio huffs a mirthless breath of laughter. “Don’t apologise, doofus. Just get better.”

 

             Leorio doesn’t need to see or hear anything else. He turns on his heel and runs out the door without looking back.

 

* * *

 

 

             He finds out one night when he sits on the staircase while Mr and Mrs Fortuna visit his parents after everyone else is in bed. Pietro’s sick. _Real_ sick. The doctor says he can treat him, but the medicine is hard to come by, which means it’s expensive. _That’s pretty much a swear word around here,_ Leorio thinks. _There’s nothing worse than something being expensive._

             Leorio tries to visit Pietro as much as he can, but he’s starting to hate it. When Pietro’s awake, Leorio just ends up feeling worried. His best friend is looking thinner and paler every day. It’s scary. When he can’t visit him, Leorio returns home immediately, hands in his pockets. He could go out and play with the other boys if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. It’s not fun if it’s not with Pietro.

           

             Leorio worries for Pietro’s parents. Pietro doesn’t have any siblings – not for lack of trying, you understand. It’s just that – and you’d better not go spreading this around, Leorio isn’t even supposed to know about this – but Mrs Fortuna has a bad belly. She can’t have any more children. Leorio remembers one day when Pietro was more sullen than usual, and when asked about it he had confessed that Mrs Fortuna had had a baby inside her, but it died. Pietro had been so excited to be a big brother and he didn’t even get a chance.

 

             Pietro is his parents’ only son, so they’ll be all alone if… no, he won’t even think it. That wouldn’t be fair, to give up on Pietro like that. He’ll get better. He’s got the medicine.

 

             The months pass achingly and Leorio discovers what it’s like to feel hatred. He’s not even sure what he hates – the other boys who didn’t spend time with Pietro? Mr and Mrs Fortuna? The doctor? Pietro? Himself?

 

             He drives himself crazy with frustration and worry most nights. His anxiety makes him a different person. He snaps more at his brothers and sisters and he refuses to do his chores. But every time Leorio fights with Nico, or yells at Esther and Dreena for leaving their clothes everywhere, his parents look at him with that same pitiful expression and Leorio wants to _scream_. He wants to scream at them, _Stop looking at me like that! Stop treating me as if I’m fragile! Treat me the way you used to, before I started feeling angry all the time!_

 

_Before Pietro started dying._

 

* * *

 

             “I’m sorry, Leorio. I know I promised you we’d play.”

 

             “It’s okay. We’ll play when you’re better.”

 

             “That’s the thing.”

 

             “What is?”

 

             “I don’t know if I’m gonna get better.”

 

             “Don’t be stupid. Of course you will.”

 

             “Leorio…”

 

             “You _will_.”

 

             “How are you so sure?”

 

 _I’m not._ “Because.”

 

             “Because?”

 

             “Because we’re friends. Like otters in a river, like birds and flight—“

 

             “Oh, Leorio.”

 

             “F-Friends… friends s-s-stick… together…”

 

             Pietro gently places his hand on Leorio’s back, and lets him cry.

 

             “All through the night,” he says quietly. 

 

* * *

 

 

             And Pietro _is_ dying. No-one ever says it to him because they don’t want to worry him, but Leorio knows. He knows that Mr Fortuna has started pulling extra shifts at the mine to pay for the medicine. He knows that Pietro has been taking the medicine for months, and that he isn’t getting better. He’s just wasting away in bed.

 

             This one time, Leorio caught a really bad flu right after Christmas, and he was holed up in his room for three whole weeks. He’ll admit it was nice at first to not have to get out of bed, and have all his meals brought up to him, and not have to do any chores, but after a while he got fed up with it. He hated being stuck in bed all the time, never having any fun, just sleeping and eating and reading old books his father had lying around. By the time he had gotten better, he was itching to go outside and play, to feel the sun on his face, to run as fast and as far as he could.

 

             He guesses Pietro must be feeling like that, only worse. Pietro used to get up and walk around his house to get snacks or a glass of water, but now he can barely walk. He simply does not have the energy. These days, he usually can’t stay awake for more than fifteen minutes when Leorio visits him. He can’t bear to see his best, his only, friend go through this torture, the torture of having your own body slowly break down around you.

 

             (He’ll never admit it, but sometimes, when Leorio is alone with his thoughts, he’ll sometimes wish that Pietro would just _die_ already. He’s sick of the suffering – his own, Pietro’s, Mr and Mrs Fortuna’s… the shame that swallows him in those moments is excruciating. He scares himself with the things he thinks sometimes. He’s a _monster_. He denies the existence of those thoughts to this day.)

 

* * *

  

             “Let’s go play.”

 

             “What?”

 

             “You heard me. Let’s go play catch.”

 

             “I can’t, Leorio.”

 

             “Why the hell not?!”

 

             Quietly. “You know why.”

 

             Leorio looks down at his hands. He does know why. And he _hates_ it. He’s never hated anything so much in his life.

 

             “Come on, just for a little while,” he pleads the bag of bones that used to be his friend.

 

             Pietro looks down at himself for a moment before nodding weakly. “Okay. I did promise you a while ago anyway. Let’s go before Momma gets home from the market.”

 

             With a youthful glee that hasn’t been felt in months, Leorio all but leaps up to help Pietro out of bed. His friend is shaky at first, but finds his feet eventually. Leorio swings one of his friend’s arms over his shoulders and half-drags him out of his room.

 

             The stairs are tricky little bastards and there are way too many of them. The pair nearly go tumbling down more than once, but one of them always corrects their stance. They’ve always been able to balance the other out, them two.

 

             Leorio grabs Pietro’s ball as they leave the house and they assume the positions of catch – facing each other with a few metres of dust road between them.

 

             “Ready?” Leorio asks, swinging the ball back and forth.

 

             “Ready,” Pietro calls weakly.

 

             And just like that, they are boys again. Leorio kicks the ball to his best friend and watches as it spits up a dust trail behind it. Pietro can’t throw the ball very well, he just sort of weakly tosses it and lets it roll a bit before Leorio goes to pick it up. Neither of them mind – it’s been so long since either of them have played together that nothing could bring their spirits down now.

 

             The sun is setting and it paints the world gold. They are healthy and happy and eternal in all their youthful glory. Here, nothing can touch them – not illness, not sadness nor pain. Here, childhood reigns supreme.

 

             But you can’t stay a child forever, no matter how much you want to. Sooner or later, time comes and takes you by the hand and sets you on a path, whether you like it or not.

 

             Leorio throws the ball and Pietro catches it. The warm sunlight catches in Pietro’s eyes and Leorio wants to gaze into that gleam forever. He thinks he could do anything if Pietro is at his side. They’ll get through this illness together, they’ll get out of this dirt town together, _they will be friends forever_.

 

             Pietro goes still and drops the ball. His eyes glaze over as he sways, light as a feather. Leorio nearly opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, until a chill creeps through his veins. Pietro’s eyes close and his legs give under him as he collapses. He lies still in the tiny dust cloud that rises around him.

 

_No._

 

             Leorio breaks out into a run, screaming Pietro’s name. He skids on his knees to a halt beside his friend, ignoring the sting on his kneecaps. He gathers his friend into his arms, fear skyrocketing as he feels how light Pietro has become. Placing one hand on his cheek, Leorio turns Pietro’s face to him. He wonders why Pietro keeps going in and out of focus, until he realises that he is crying.

 

             “No no no no no Pietro _please_ Pietro no no please no don’t do this please Pietro please don’t do this _please don’t die!_ ” he begs, his tone of voice becoming more urgent and pained. His chest starts to ache and he realises his breathing is loud and fast and ragged. Panic swells within him and he lifts his head to look around for any other grown-ups, for any sign of help. His heart breaks when he sees that he is alone.

 

             “ _Help! Somebody please help!_ ” he sobs, rocking to and fro with Pietro in his arms. He starts chanting “oh God oh God oh God oh God _oh God oh God—_ ”

 

             “ _Leorio._ ”

 

             The faintest whisper. He would not have heard it if he weren’t so close.

 

             Leorio looks down at Pietro with fat tears streaming down his cheeks. Pietro’s eyes are open the tiniest bit and his breathing is shallow. _He’s dying. He’s really dying._

 

             “You’re gonna be okay! I’m gonna take care of you! We’re gonna go to a doctor and—”

 

             “Leorio.”

 

             “—the hospital and you can get your medicine—”

 

             “Leorio, stop.”

 

             “—because… b-because…”

 

             “It’s okay.”

 

             “ _No, it’s not!_ We’re _friends!_ We’ve _always_ been together! You can’t leave me!”

 

             The dam breaks and Leorio’s frame is wracked with powerful, painful weeping.

 

             “I’m sorry,” Pietro murmurs. He coughs weakly, before turning his head towards Leorio’s chest and spitting blood on his shirt, panting softly. “Go. You don’t have to see me die. Go.”

 

             Leorio straightens wearily to look at Pietro. With a watery smile, he says, “And leave my best friend on his own? Not on your life.” He sniffs once and leans closer.

 

             “Like otters in a river…”

 

             Pietro smiles faintly and replies, “Like birds ‘n’ flight.” His eyes close.

 

             “Friends stick together.”

 

             Leorio gets no reply.

 

             “Pietro. _Friends stick together._ ”

 

             Silence.

 

             Leorio holds Pietro’s body close, tucks himself as close as he can into every nook and cranny of his bony corpse, and bears the crest of a great and terrible wave of grief.

 

* * *

 

             Leorio doesn’t feel much after that. He remembers Mrs Fortuna coming home from the market and seeing the two boys in the street. She had dropped her basket of vegetables and sunk to her knees, screaming. Leorio hadn’t heard her.

 

             It isn’t until half an hour later that Leorio’s mother comes to tear her son away from Pietro’s corpse. He can’t let go, doesn’t want to let go. His mother eventually manages to pry open his iron grip and pull him away. Mrs Fortuna quickly takes his place, clutching her son’s head in her lap and weeping the way only the mother of a dead child can. The other villagers gather around sometime later, mostly to comfort Mrs Fortuna and prepare Pietro for a funeral.

 

             Mr Fortuna comes home some time later, after his double-shift at the mine. He comes home to a dead son and a grieving wife. He falls to his son’s side and holds his tiny body in his massive arms. He too lets out a torturous howl, screaming, “My boy! My precious, darling boy!”

 

             The women sit beside Pietro’s mother, trying to soothe her any way they can. The men remove their hats and place them on their chests. One man brings his fingers to the inside of Pietro’s wrist for a few seconds before shaking his head in defeat. The other men gathered there bow their heads, frowning. Some of them pat Mr Fortuna’s shoulder out of solidarity. It brings Mr Fortuna little comfort as he sobs, enduring what no man should ever have to endure.

 

             Even after he has been pulled away, Leorio’s gaze remains on Pietro. He can feel his mother holding him close and stroking his hair, crying quietly. _That could be me,_ he thinks. _Ma’s crying because she’s glad that isn’t me._

 

             It’s dark by the time Leorio and his mother get home. Leorio doesn’t remember deciding to go back home, or walking home, but he does remember walking in the door and seeing all of his seven siblings sitting at the table. They stare at him silently, wide-eyed, and Leorio stares back. Pop looks up from his seat to Ma, his eyebrows raised in question. Ma sighs shakily and tells the others that it’s time for bed. If it were any other night, there would have been an argument, but not tonight. They all have enough sense to make themselves scarce.

 

             Nico approaches Ma and says, “Ma, let me take care of Leorio so you and Pop can talk. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

 

             Ma nods wearily and Leorio is taken by the hand up the stairs. “Come on, Leo,” he says softly, gently. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

 

             Leorio rips his hand away from Nico’s. “ _No,_ ” he says sternly. “Stop treating me like a child.”

 

             “But you _are_ a child, Leorio. You’re only twelve, and—”

 

             “He’s _dead_ , Nico. Pietro is dead.”

 

             And the spell instantly breaks. Reality descends chaotically in Leorio’s head as he catches up to himself. _Pietro is dead. We were playing catch and he collapsed. Pietro is dead. It’s all my fault. I couldn’t save him. PIETRO IS DEAD._

 

             “Leo! Hey, Leorio! Look, I-I’m sorry, okay?!” Nico grips Leorio’s shoulders and shakes him. Leorio’s chest starts to feel tight and he realises he is hyperventilating.

 

             “Please, Leorio, calm down! I didn’t mean it!” Nico begs. “I’m sorry about Pietro, I know he was your friend, but please calm down!”

 

             Leorio focuses on Nico’s voice to bring him back. He can no longer trust his own head, he could easily get lost in there. _I need to stop thinking._

 

             He wraps his arms around Nico and starts to cry again, deep ugly sobs between wheezy inhales. Nico, thankfully, says nothing, but holds Leorio tightly and pats his hair, like how Ma did.

 

             He’s not sure how long he stands there crying, but once he’s done, he peels himself away from his brother and decides he’s all the better for it. A silent something passes between the boys and Nico smiles softly. “Come on,” he almost whispers. “You need to sleep. Things will be easier in the morning, you’ll see.”

 

             Leorio, in his fatigue, almost believes him.

 

             Nico briefly disappears into the bedroom to announce to his siblings that they’ll sleep downstairs tonight, and that Leorio will have the room to himself tonight. Vetti and Marie kick up a fuss about not wanting to sleep on the floor, but Nico bribes them with the promise of a sweet cake next weekend at the fair. Uriel, Franka, and Esther smile sadly at Leorio as they pass him on the stairwell and Uriel goes as far as to pat him on the shoulder. Beneath the emotional tempest, Leorio is grateful for their kindness.

 

             Leorio enters the bedroom and is taken aback slightly by the size of it. _But, of course, a room can never be big if there’s eight in it._ He is sitting on the bed and staring blankly at the floor when Nico peeks his head around the door once again.

 

             “I brought you some pyjamas. Your ones are still being washed, so you can use mine. Freshly washed. I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep… wearing that.”

 

             Nico gestures vaguely to Leorio’s top. Leorio looks down – _what’s wrong with my top?_ – before seeing the blood stain from earlier, which had since become a rusty brown stain. Leorio begins to peel off his shirt and trousers.

 

             Nico leaves the pyjamas on the bed beside Leorio and leaves. Before he leaves, he turns around once more and says, “Good night, Leorio. I hope you sleep well. We’re always here for you. You know where to find us.”

 

             With that, Nico shuts the bedroom door behind him as softly as he can manage. Leorio can’t bear the thought of a night without Pietro, _friends stay together all through the night_ resounding in his mind.

 

             Nico’s pyjamas are warm and soft as he pulls them on. Nico never shares anything – maybe he’s maturing. They’re way too long and too wide, but that’s alright. They smell like soap and the old cupboard in the corner of the bedroom.

 

             Leorio climbs under the covers and rests his head on the pillow, finally realising how tired he is. His strength leaves him, and he succumbs to a long, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

             Time passes strangely after Pietro dies. Hours last forever, yet days go by like seconds. Leorio doesn’t do much anymore. He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat. Not out of punishment, mind you, but simply because he feels no desire to do these things. His siblings talk to him as much as possible, but Leorio just can’t bring himself to care about what they’re talking about. He can’t concentrate either, his mind keeps wandering. If his siblings notice, they, gracefully, don’t mention it. Leorio simultaneously wants them to be sensitive to him and to stop treating him like glass. But he _is_ glass— or, at least, he certainly _feels_ like it. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Nothing makes sense now that Pietro’s gone.

 

             Leorio would spend all of his alone time reading, but he can’t. He used to love reading, he knows he did, but now it’s not fun. He can’t focus on the words. The stories no longer create fantastical hallucinations inside Leorio’s head like they used to. It’s like the books are dead. Or maybe it’s Leorio who’s dead. He certainly doesn’t act like a real person anymore, but he can’t bring himself to do anything normal, to be anything normal. With how tired he is all the time, he finds it hard to believe he used to play all day, from sunrise to sunset with Pi—

 

             And just when he thinks he’s feeling better, _that_ happens. Something reminds Leorio of him and in the blink of an eye, he’s right back there again in that dirt road hugging his best friend’s corpse to him. Leorio would cry if he had the energy.

 

             Lying in his bed at night, exhausted yet sleepless, his mind thrums with confusion dowsed in numbness. _I can’t escape it,_ he moans silently to himself. _I’ll never escape it. Something will always bring me back there._ He wants everything to be the way it was. He wants to have Pietro back. He wants to be happy again.

 

* * *

 

             Leorio slowly, very slowly, begins to heal. His brothers and sisters give him space to grieve, most likely thanks to Nico keeping them in line. He can be nice when he wants to be. Leorio doesn’t go with them to the spring fair _because he promised Pietro they’d go together when he got better._ But he doesn’t tell anyone that. “I feel kinda sick,” he tells Franka. “I think I ate too much at dinner.”

 

             And Franka – wonderful, intelligent Franka, who sees but never stares, hears but never tells, the silent augur – smiles sagely, nods, and says, “Feel better,” before letting Leorio sleep awhile.

 

             Leorio is restlessly twisting and turning underneath the sheets for over an hour after the house falls silent. No matter which way he lies, he can’t get comfortable. His legs have too much energy in them. His hands keep twitching. _This is useless. I’ll get no sleep like this,_ he thinks. He tempts himself with the thought of a cup of hot milk until he hauls himself out of bed and down the stairs.

 

             The kitchen is warm and the gas lamp on the dining table casts an easy homely glow around. This is what the house used to be like before. That same lamp with that same light, the smallest yet kindest comfort. Pop has fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa near the wall. His snores quietly, a tiny nasally rumbling from his chest. Ma is turned away from him, drying the dinner’s dishes with a handcloth and softly humming to herself. Leorio pads over to her and grabs another cloth from the sink.

 

             “Need some help, Ma?”

 

             Ma nearly jumps out of her skin when he speaks. “Leorio! I didn’t even hear you come down! Oh, but I thought you were out with the others at the fair.”

 

             Leorio picks up a wet glass while she talks and begins rubbing it with his cloth. “No, I felt kinda sick earlier so I said I’d stay home. I tried to take a nap but I couldn’t sleep so I came down here for some hot milk.”

 

             It’s the most he’s said to his mother since the incident and the smile that blossoms on his mother’s face is testament to that. _She thinks I’m getting better,_ Leorio realises.

 

             “Well,” Ma sighs. “If you dry the rest of these, I’ll make you some hot milk. That sound like a deal? I’ll even give you a chocolate cookie.”

 

             Leorio could not deny the way his mouth watered at the mention of a chocolate cookie. He nodded silently and set to work. _Ma’s just happy I’m eating again,_ he thinks to himself. He won’t blame her though, he knows she’s just looking out for him.

 

             Leorio handles each individual glass gently, carefully swiping the cloth across the surface and down past the rim. After one is sufficiently dry, it is slowly placed in the cupboard along with its comrades. You have to be gentle with glass, you see. You can’t jostle it around or be careless. It isn’t robust enough to hold its shape if it gets broken. Even a small abuse will leave it cracked forever.

 

             Once, when Leorio was younger and clumsier, he had accidentally knocked over a glass horse figurine, a wedding gift to his parents. It had shattered and scattered all over the floor, and Ma had screamed him out of the room so she could clean it up. Leorio’s guilt had increased tenfold when he heard her crying. Pop had taken some glue and a torch and set about putting the figurine back together. He had done a fine job of it too – Leorio breaks himself from his flashback to look over at the repaired glass horse sitting on a small table beside the stairs. Well, _almost_ repaired – even from the other side of the room, Leorio can still see all the hairline fractures, the misshapen fissures that ran along the horse’s body. They will be there forever, an immortal tribute to a past trauma.

 

             Leorio can’t help but wonder if he is like that horse – these days, most everyone treats him like he’s breakable. But it’s more worrying than that. All Leorio can see in that figurine is the cracks and crevices, the ugly scars it bears. It sends a shower of guilt over him.

 

             The horse figurine is fixed now, but it will never be the same. Even now, it’s slightly wobbly on one glass hoof. Will Leorio ever be the same now that his only friend in the world is dead? Or is he doomed forevermore to be a busted up version of his former self?

 

             Is that all people would see when they looked at him from now on? Would they only ever see his malformed soul, bruised from loss? Will he only ever be a disfigured heart, forever beating out of time, missing pieces here and there?

 

             Leorio can’t bear it. He can’t bear the thought that he’ll only ever be visible through a permanent lens of misery. Before he can stop himself, thick, fat tears are rolling down his cheeks.

 

             “Now, I know this took a while, but I had to heat up the stove and— Leorio? Leorio, what’s wrong, dear?”

 

             Ma hurriedly sets the hot milk on the table and bends down to Leorio’s eye level. She picks up her apron in one hand and wipes it on her son’s cheeks and around his eyes.

 

             “Why d-did he have to— why did P-Piet… why did he have to die, Ma?”

 

             (It’s still too soon. Leorio still can’t say his name out loud.)

 

             Ma gives him that pitiful look again, but Leorio hasn’t got it in him to yell about it.

 

             “Leorio, darling… we can drive ourselves crazy asking why, but it won’t get us anywhere. People die, sweetheart. It’s a part of life.”

 

             “But you’re supposed to die when you’re old! He wasn’t old at all! He was my age, Ma!”

 

             Ma sighs. “Not everyone is lucky enough to get old,” she says quietly.

 

             Leorio has one more question in him, one that he’s been scared to ask ever since Pietro started getting worse.

 

             “He was taking medicine. Why didn’t he get better?”

 

             Ma looks at the ground. She swallows quickly. When she looks up again, her expression is serious.

 

             “Leorio, people like us are not rich. We can’t afford things like the city folk can. Mr and Mrs Fortuna did everything they could, but that doctor said he needed surgery. They did what they could to save up money for it, but they were too late.”

 

             Leorio can’t believe what he’s hearing. Pietro died… because they didn’t have enough money for surgery?

 

             “That’s why? Because his family didn’t have enough money to pay for surgery?” he asks tentatively, to see if he’s got it straight.

 

             “Yes, love.”

 

             “But that’s not fair.”

 

             “I know. Life’s not fair, Leorio. It’s best you learn that sooner rather than later. The world owes us nothing,” Ma says sternly.

 

             “But don’t doctors owe it to their patients to keep them alive?” Leorio isn’t sure he wants Ma to respond to that.

 

             “They do. But this doctor… he decided money was more important. He was a bad doctor, Leorio.”

 

             Ma has that faraway look in her eye, like sadness has come over her too. She straightens and pulls Leorio in close to her, letting him sniffle on her dress. He rests his chin on Ma’s baby bump.

 

             “Don’t worry, Leo. Things will get better. This pain will pass, and you’ll be happy again one day. And when you are, your family will be right there beside you.”

 

             Leorio doesn’t want to be happy. He wants to be rich. He never wants to feel this maddening helplessness and sorrow again.

 

             That day, he silently promises himself (and someone else) something – he promises that he will become a doctor, a good doctor, one that will help everyone he can. He’ll pay for other people’s medicine, their surgeries, anything. He will never let anyone else suffer as he has.

 

* * *

  

             Leorio is hungover in his Infectious Disease class. Again.

 

             He can’t help it. He’s a college kid now, a med student, to be exact – do you really expect an eighteen-year-old to _not_ party five nights a week? Come on.

 

             His head lies between his crossed arms on the desk in front of him, throbbing painfully. Lolling over to one side, Leorio casts his eye over the lecture hall to will away the nausea bubbling away in his stomach. It’s a huge room, able to hold three hundred students, possibly more if needed. The white plastic seats, however, don’t hold nearly that many students now – class is starting in five minutes and the room is nowhere near even a quarter of its capacity. The seats have been arranged like an amphitheatre, rising steadily towards the back of the room. The carpet below is a deep mossy green and Leorio can tell just from looking at it that it would feel itchy if he touched it.

 

             He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. _Don’t do it. Don’t throw up._ He’s so caught up in his mantra that he doesn’t hear his professor enter the room and walk to the front of the room. What Leorio _does_ hear is his professor slamming down a massive textbook right beside his head.

 

             “Good _morning_ , my brilliant life-savers!” he beams, and if Leorio didn’t know any better he’d think his professor was serious. “How are we this fine morning? Ready to delay the inevitable in a misguided pursuit of the impossible? Perfect, let’s begin.”

 

             Leorio both loves and hates Professor Greka. He’s an eccentric little man, gray wisps of hair making him look older than he is. He’s tubby and falsely cheerful, like some sort of hellish twist on a daffodil. However, he’s one of those teachers that likes to suddenly quiz students on every single facet of science imaginable. It’s exhausting.

 

             But he can be whatever the fuck he wants, as long as he teaches well, Leorio’s happy.

 

             “Okay, put away the books. It’s scenario time,” he says, rubbing his hands together and turning to clear the blackboard behind him on the podium. A collective groan rises from the other students, and Leorio joins them with a quiet grunt of frustration.

 

             “Scenario!” says Professor Greka loudly. He holds both his hands up with his index finger in the air – he calls them his “hand guns” like a weird uncle. He points at Leorio with a hand gun and whispers, “Pew!”

 

             Leorio’s eyes widen and he screams internally. _Great. I’m up for scenario time._

 

             “You! Hangover Child! Imagine this – you’re a doctor on the job and a patient comes to you complaining of unintentional weight loss, fever, and coughing blood. What do you do?”

 

             If there was one thing he had learned in college, it was to rule out the obvious shit.

 

             “I’d ask them if they already have an already weakened immune system, or if they’ve been travelling anywhere recently, or if they’re in poverty or anything like that.”

 

             That seemed to be the right answer, if the grin on Professor Greka’s face was anything to go by. “Good. Why?”

 

             “Well, if they’ve been exposed to any drug use or live in poverty, combined with a weak immune system and the symptoms they’ve described, they could definitely be at risk of t—…”

 

_Oh._

 

             “Go on, Hangover Child. At risk of…?”

 

             Leorio swallows. “Tuberculosis.”

 

             “Keep going.”

 

             He takes a deep breath. After all this time, the wound of Pietro’s loss still aches. It’s not fresh or blindingly painful like it once was – now it’s ugly scar tissue running under his skin, across his chest and down below his ribs. It throbs like a punch to the chest, like a dying man who has reached his final moments and is gasping while he can. Leorio is wearied by it all.

 

 _Come on, Leorio. It’s only an imaginary scenario._ “Ask them how long they’ve experienced their symptoms, and if they’ve ever been exposed to or been vaccinated for TB.”

 

             “See what he’s doing, class?” Professor Greka is gesturing to Leorio while addressing the rest of the class. “He’s getting the generic stuff out of the way before moving on to the more specific stuff. You’d be surprised how many professionals go straight to these big assumptions without asking and you _never_ want to assume anything with a patient.”

 

             He turns back to Leorio. “Continue.”

 

             “Check the lymph nodes for swelling, check the breathing, do a blood test to see if it’s latent or active.”

 

             Professor Greka eyes him curiously. “No skin test? Isn’t that more convenient?”

 

             Leorio does not hesitate in answering. He wants this over with as quickly as possible.  “Not in the long term. Skin tests give false positives and negatives all the time. It just wastes time.”

 

             “Oh, Hangover Child,” Professor Greka sighs wistfully. “If only all my students could be as smart as you. Okay, the blood tests come back and indicate a diagnosis of active tuberculosis. What do you do next?”

 

_You do nothing. You sit back and watch him die slowly._

 

             “You tell them they have active tuberculosis, and that there’s nothing you can do for them. That you’re sorry. That they don’t have long left and they should get their things in order.”

 

             Professor Greka frowns. “So promising, Hangover Child, but you fail me at the last hurdle. Tell me, how is it that you know so much about this disease but not about its cure?”

 

             “There is no cure, only treatment. _It’s tuberculosis._ ”

 

             “Class, it appears we have a time traveller from 1899,” Professor Greka jokes. He looks at Leorio disdainfully and says, “I’m surprised you’re not calling it consumption. A six- to twelve-month course of antibiotics should clear it up.”

 

 _Antibiotics?_ Yes, that must have been what Pietro took.

 

             “Class, take this down – the antibiotics used to treat active tuberculosis are ING, Priftin, pyrazinamide, and ethambutol for the first three months, with the rest of the course consisting of just INH and Priftin.”

 

             Leorio runs the numbers in his head – none of those are overly expensive. _Unless, maybe, when they’re combined?_ He sticks his arm straight in the air.

 

             “Professor! Are the antibiotics expensive?” he asks in an urgent tone.

 

             “What kind of…? No, they’re not, especially if you have good life insurance. You can get them for next to nothing, even the folk out in Meteor City can afford it,” Professor Greka says, as if he’s been inconvenienced by such a question.

 

             Leorio’s heart sinks in his chest while his professor continues talking.

 

_Even the folk out in Meteor City can afford it._

 

             Leorio wants to cry.

 

             “My point, life-savers, is that you shouldn’t forget about certain diseases just because they’re nearly extinct. New strains are appearing all the time – _don’t_ lower your guard.”

 

 _What_ _about…?_ “Professor! I have just one more question!” Leorio almost shouts, thrusting his arm high into the air.

 

             Professor Greka huffs exasperatedly. “Hangover Child, you’re ruining scenario time.”

 

             It’s as good an invite to speak as Leorio is gonna get. “Is surgery ever required to treat TB?”

 

             “No, except in cases of extreme drug resistance, or if the disease is located somewhere outside the lungs. Now, as for my next victim…”

 

             That doctor… that _evil son of a bitch_ lied to Pietro’s parents. He _lied_ so he could get more money out of them, making them pay for both medicine _and_ surgery.

 

             Leorio feels sick. He sits through the rest of the lecture with a ferocious despair engulfing him.

 

* * *

  

             “Am I gonna die, Doctor Paladiknight?”

 

             Leorio smirks down at the little girl in the hospital bed. “You’re gonna be just fine. You just need your tonsils taken out. You’ll be better in no time flat, and then you get to eat all the ice-cream you want.”

 

             The girl looks down at her blanket, small hand coming up to rub at her throat. “Is it gonna hurt?”

 

             “Hey, princess,” Leorio says gently, sitting on the bed beside her and leaning down until he’s at her eye level. “I promise you won’t feel a thing. You’ll be asleep for the operation.”

 

             “Nothing’s gonna happen to me?”

 

             “Not on your life.”

 

             The girl is unconvinced. She extends her pinky finger towards him. “Pinky promise,” she commands.

 

             Leorio dwarfs her finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

 

             And that settles it. The girl laughs with a toothy grin and all is well.

 

             “Paladiknight,” a voice calls behind him. Leorio turns to see Nurse Chiko standing in the doorway wearing a worried expression. She’s panting slightly, as if she ran all the way from the front desk to the third floor. “I think you’re gonna want to see this.”

 

             Leorio bids goodbye to the little girl and closes the door behind him when he leaves. “Everything okay, Chiko?” he asks.

 

             “We think one of your friends is here,” says Nurse Chiko.

 

             “Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so! I wasn’t expecting visitors today, but I think I can show them a good time in the break room,” Leorio replies easily.

 

_Please be Kurapika._

 

             “No, not as a visitor…” she trails off, looking at him expectantly.

 

             “Oh. Okay. Come on, show me,” he tells her.

 

_Please don’t be Kurapika. Or Gon. Or Killua. But it has to be one of them. Oh fuck._

 

             Nurse Chiko guides him down to the first floor, weaving her way through what seems to be endless twists and turns of the same corridor repeatedly. Leorio’s heart stops when he turns the corner and sees Killua standing with his arms crossed over his chest. By his side is a young girl with long black hair, like Ma’s used to look, wearing a pink and green dress.

 

 _So if_ _Killua’s out here, that means… Gon._

 

             “Killua. What’s going on?”

 

             At the mention of his name, Killua looks up. He’s tired – his normally bright blue eyes are like frosted glass, and there are deep, dark grey bags beneath them. He smiles weakly. “Hey, Leorio. Long time no see.”

 

             “Yeah, it’s been a while. What happened to Gon?” Leorio has no time for this now, this needless small talk, but he can’t show any signs of freaking out. He has to stay calm here. If Killua sees him – him, Leorio, _a medical professional_ – freaking out, he’ll panic too.

 

             Killua’s eyes defocus as his gaze drops. “Gon… lost someone important to him. And he got reckless. He’s all beat up. We need you, Leorio. Save him.”

 

             Leorio doesn’t respond. He simply turns away from Killua and opens the door the Gon’s room.

 

             It’s dark inside, the only light coming from the reading torch at the headboard of the bed. Leorio hasn’t yet finished his Nen training but he can immediately feel that something is very wrong. He closes his eyes and concentrates on flaring his Zetsu. Something sickening and corrosive exists in the room’s aura, something so nauseating and acidic that Leorio quickly switches off his Zetsu for fear of exposing himself to it.

 

             Leorio closes and locks the door behind him. The cardiac monitor is beeping away steadily, the mechanical ventilation system chugging and churning to fill and deflate the lungs. There is a translucent plastic curtain around Gon’s bed, and Leorio can just about make out Gon’s figure through it. He’s motionless on the bed.

 

             Leorio nearly vomits at what he sees behind the curtain. All his years of medical training could never have prepared him for this. Gon is… he can’t even be sure that’s Gon. That could be anybody. The entire body is wrapped loosely in bloody bandages. He can’t even see the face. He grabs the clipboard from the end of the bed and forces himself to read:

  * _Severe burn wounds to 95% of the skin – skin grafts (???)_
  * _Loss of left arm up the shoulder_
  * _Unresponsive since admission, elevated heart rate + low brain activity_



 

             Leorio can’t breathe. He can’t combine the mummified figure before him and his mind’s image of Gon into the same person. Gon is always full of life, always talking loudly and smiling like the sun. He loves laughing and joking and being happy, making others happy. All told, he has always reminded Leorio of his younger self.

 

             And now look at him. He’s unrecognisable. He’s a pile of burned flesh with a whole arm missing. This can’t be Gon. It can’t be. _But it is._

 

_It’s all my fault. I knew I should have checked up on them. I should have made sure they were okay I should have taught them how to take care of themselves I should have called I should have I should have I don’t know I should have been there I should have saved Pietro I shouldn’t have broken the horse–_

 

 _Stop it,_ Leorio tells himself. _You’ll never help anybody if you keep feeling sorry for yourself. Suck it up and do your job._

 

             So he does. He turns away from Gon briskly and leaves the room, fishing his phone out of his coat pocket. He clicks an internet search for Nen exorcists and briefly reads down through the list of names. There are only ten. He makes a mental note to access their information through the Hunter website after talking to Killua.

 

             “So?” asks Killua from the corner of Leorio’s vision. He’s staring up at Leorio with wide blue eyes and the black-haired girl peers over Killua’s shoulder with that same “Can you fix him?”

 

             “I could try, but it wouldn’t do much. His problem isn’t his physical health per se, it’s something to do with his Nen,” he explains tersely.

 

             “Tell me something I _don’t_ know, old man!” The black-haired girl tugs lightly on Killua’s shirt and almost whispers, “Big brother, calm down,” but he ignores her.

 

             “We brought him here so someone could tell us what’s actually wrong with him, and you give us this shit? I can’t—”

 

             “You better drop that attitude or I’ll put you on the visitors’ blacklist, you hear me?” Leorio says forcefully. He’s sure he accidentally flared his aura in his anger. “I’m calling a Nen exorcist for an examination, it’s our best shot.”

 

             “And if they don’t know what’s wrong?”

 

             “Then… I don’t know, Killua.” Leorio sighs and rubs the back of his head.

 

             “That’s not good enough.”

 

             “Well, what the fuck you do want me to do! I’m not God. I can’t just wave my hands around and fix this. Y—”

 

             “ _You’re a doctor!_ ” Killua shouts, slamming his fist against the wall so hard Leorio is surprised he doesn’t break through the plaster. “ _It’s your job to make people well again!_ ”

 

             “You _know_ that’s not fair!” Leorio shouts right back at him. “What happened to Gon anyway?”

 

             Killua pauses and some of the anger leaves his eyes. “He did something stupid.”

 

             “Yeah, you said that. Gimme details.”

 

             Killua tells him everything. Meeting Kite after Greed Island, the Chimera Ants, the master plan, Pitou, what happened in the forest…

 

             By the time Killua’s finished reliving it all, he’s crying. The black-haired girl rubs her hand comfortingly across his back but remains silent. Leorio notices how tenderly they hold hands. _Like otters in a river._

 

_God damn it… while Gon was away fighting for his friends, here I was drinking and partying. Don’t worry, Gon. I’m strong enough to fight for you now._

 

             “The others said it was some sort of exchange. He traded part of his future for incredible power. He killed Pitou, but he just kept going… I tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen—”

 

             “It’s okay, Killua. You don’t have to continue.”

 

             “—and he was crying because he blamed himself for Kite—”

 

             “ _Killua._ It’s okay.”

 

             Killua sniffles and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m not gonna cry anymore. I’m gonna help Gon get better, and then I’m gonna make him apologise. He’s such an _idiot_. He won’t get away with it this time.”

 

             Leorio steps closer to Killua and gently ruffles his hair. “Gon will be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

_I’ll never let anyone else suffer as I have._

            

* * *

             He wonders if he can do it. He wants to believe that he’s stronger now, he’s not who he was when he was twelve, he’s able to save people now. He’s able to help his friends when they need him. But is it true? Leorio knows self-doubt will tie his thoughts in knots, but he feels his duty to his friends so strongly it nearly drowns him.

 

             Leorio tries his best to heal Gon but the prognosis is bad. The Nen exorcist can’t do a damn thing and to top it all off, Gon’s father has yet to even ask about his son’s condition. _What a joke_ , Leorio thinks bitterly. Gon clearly didn’t inherit his consideration for others from that dick. But Leorio holds himself back from flying into a rage – how he manages it is beyond him, but if the Hunter Exam taught him anything, it was that a little bit of thought went a long way.

 

             The Chairman elections are dragging on and on _and on_ for a ridiculous amount of time, so he’s happy to attend a meeting to finally clear all this shit up. The section on the back of the information pamphlet has an agenda of the meeting, and right down the bottom in bold print reads “Q &A Section with the Chairman candidates”. _This is my chance,_ Leorio thinks. If Ging doesn’t bring up Gon’s condition, Leorio will bring it up himself. It’ll all work out pleasantly – no-one will trust Ging with the Association if he can’t even take care of his own kid.

 

             He’s sitting in the back of the huge meeting hall in the Association Headquarters, arms and legs crossed defensively. He had been briefly worried that he wouldn’t be able to identify Ging – it’s not like he’s ever seen him before – but his fears had been quietened as soon as Ging had stepped onstage. He’s dressed like some sort of monk, with some weird blue-grey scarf wrapped shoddily around his head, but his face is the same as Gon’s. And those _eyes_. Leorio could pick out those molten bronze peepers a mile away in a crowd. For a moment, Leorio worries about just how much of his father Gon has inherited.

 

             The tiny girl onstage with the short brown hair has opened up the floor to the audience. Leorio won’t let this opportunity pass him by. That _bastard_ hasn’t mentioned Gon _once_. _He’s gonna pay,_ Leorio swears. _He’s gonna answer right here, right now as to why he’s eluded Gon all these years, made Gon feel like he’s not important._ He raises his hand into the air.

 

             “Okay, the big guy in the dark suit. Go ahead,” the tiny girl chirps.

 

             Leorio stands and silently approaches the wooden podium, his steps echoing around him. A microphone rests on top of the wood, and Leorio picks it up. He swallows and begins to speak.

 

             “I’m Leorio, from the 287th class. I have a question for that guy named Ging.”

 

 _That’s Gon’s dad._ He’s trying hard to keep his cool. Maybe Ging has a perfectly good explanation for this.

 

             “Why haven’t you gone to visit Gon? You must know his current condition.”

 

             He did it. He asked. The crowd starts murmuring around him, asking who Gon is, who Leorio is, why this is relevant. Ging raises his hand and picks up the microphone. The tiny girl narrates the scene.

 

             “Okay, let’s hear the answer.”

 

             Ging’s voice is rough and gravelly. It’s what Gon would sound like if he swallowed a mouthful of sand. “First, what is your relationship with Gon?” he asks.

 

             “We’re buddies.”

 

             “Oh. I appreciate it. I hope you’ll stay friends with him. That’s all.”

 

             With that, Ging puts his microphone back on the table before him. A silent moment passes in which Leorio’s rage bursts to life, vibrant after having been held back for so long.

 

             “Answer my question!” Leorio demands angrily. “Or just go visit him! Go visit Gon!”

 

             Something in Leorio’s reply must have stirred something in Ging because he takes up his microphone once more and says, “I’ve heard he has a number of friends like you. That should suffice.”

 

 _Is this fucker for real?!_ “Don’t give me that bull! Do you have any idea how much Gon wants to see you? If you talk to him, he might recover!”

 

             Ging cocks an eyebrow and the mere _arrogance_ of it makes Leorio want to scream. “Did he say that he wanted me to visit?”

 

 _What…?_ In his mind, Leorio can see Gon wrapped in bloody gauze, lying lifeless on the hospital bed. _He couldn’t say it even if he wanted to!_ Leorio’s rage overpowers him. He can’t hold back anymore. All the anger, pain, guilt, and regret of the last few days (and all those years) comes back to life and it’s directed right at—

 

             “You _fucking asshole!_ ” he screams, swinging his right fist behind him. His aura flares and the podium snaps and crumbles under it. A black hole appears at Leorio’s feet and he opens another right below Ging. He launches his fist through the hole and it reappears exactly where he wants it to – centimetres away from Ging’s stupid chin. The wicked crack of Leorio’s fist colliding with Ging’s face resonates across the hall, and Ging flies back and collapses on the floor on his back. He lies motionless on the stage for a while.

 

             “ _You can go to hell!_ ”

 

             And it feels so _good_. Finally, some justice in the world. Finally, people are held accountable for what they’ve done.

 

             Leorio storms out of the hall, the cheers of the crowd erupting behind him. He can hear the tiny girl talking again too.

 

             “Wow! You’ll find footage of today’s entire meeting on the Hunter website, so tell everyone who wasn’t present!” she says excitedly. Perhaps she wanted Ging to get punched just as much as Leorio did. “Tell them they absolutely have to watch it!” Yeah, she definitely did.

 

             Leorio’s knuckles burn as he walks down the hall, but he can tell they’re just badly bruised. He wishes injustice could always be like this – a moment where you can let your fury take control and throw a killer right hook at the villain. A moment where you can get revenge on the world for the shit you’ve had to deal with.

 

             But it can’t always be like that, because the villain isn’t always a deadbeat dad with no remorse. Sometimes it’s something unpunchable. Sometimes there’s no villain at all – it’s war, or famine, or even just bad luck.

 

             Sometimes, it’s tuberculosis.

 

             Either way, Leorio is glad he got that punch in.

 

* * *

 

             Forget Ging, Leorio is straight-up going to punch _God_ right in the nuts.

 

             Somehow, his little skirmish with Ging has gotten Leorio a position as candidate for the election. Only God could have done this, that smug bastard. He guesses a lot of other people feel the same way about Ging if this is how they respond. He doesn’t care too much about it – if he wins, he’ll get everyone to work together and heal Gon, and resign immediately after. If he loses, he’ll go straight back to the hospital and find another way.

 

 _There’s no way I’m giving up on Gon,_ Leorio silently promises. _No way. He didn’t give up on me when I got stuck in that cave in the Hunter Exam._ He still has a scar on his hand from that time. It’s a faint white line on the back of his left hand. He looks at it fondly now and his resolve is renewed.

 

             (As if it needed renewing. As if Leorio’s determination had in any way weakened over the past week.)

 

             But still, no candidate receives more than half the vote. It gets to the eighth vote before Piyon (that’s the tiny girl with the short hair, he’s gotten to know her a bit over the course of his campaign) announces that no-one will be allowed to leave the hall until a new Chairman has been elected.

 

 _Oh boy,_ Leorio groans internally. _This is gonna be like pulling teeth._

 

             He listens to some weird green dog-girl – Choodle? No, it’s _Cheadle_ – fight with Mr Sparkles over here about something. Leorio knows his name is Pariston but when he looks at him, he just can’t get the image of that awful gold suit out of his head.

 

             Mr Sparkles never stops smiling, which you’d think would be calming and endearing but it’s the opposite. His expression never changes. When he speaks, it’s with that level tone of voice that makes you feel like you’re a fumbling idiot in his surefire plans. Cheadle always huffs and frowns at him, like he keeps revealing the intricate twists and turns of his plot in the most inconvenient way. _What a pedantic sparkly shit._

 

             Cheadle raises her hand and says she’ll volunteer as Leorio’s advisor if he gets elected.

 

 _But I don’t need an advisor!_ Leorio wants to say. _All I want is to save Gon!_

 

             “Hey, hey, hey!” he protests. “I have no idea what you people are talking about but I’m in a hurry to save Gon as quickly as possible!”

 

             There’s a faraway click and a loud groan. A shaft of light appears and grows larger at the top of the stairs, wider and wider until it’s a broad rectangular shape. A beast of a man stands in the middle, dark figure obscured by the surrounding light.

 

             “ _Leorio!_ ”

 

             Leorio’s caught off-guard at the bellow of his name, thinking it’s someone who has beef with him, but is surprised to see Morel. More specifically, Morel covered in tears and snot. He sticks his hand out towards Leorio with a thumbs-up and nods once.

 

 _No. It couldn’t be._ Leorio doesn’t dare hope. Hope is a dangerous thing, a cruel thing, in these situations. He knows the true nature of this demon all too well. Hope keeps you going when you’d rather give up, but it also forces you to keep believing in something that isn’t real, dragging your body down an endless road of torture. 

 

             A smaller figure walks in from the light behind Morel and Leorio’s breath catches and stops before he can even recognise him.

 

             Gon’s molten bronze eyes are the first thing he sees. He smiles when he sees Leorio and sheepishly places one hand behind his head. Almost immediately, Leorio’s lungs fill with shaky inhales and his eyes with tears he wouldn’t let himself shed. He feels his face twist into an ugly grimace as relief surges through him.

 

             Several other figures appear behind him, but Leorio hardly notices them because that’s Gon he’s okay Gon is better Gon’s okay _he’s alive—_

 

             “ _Gon!_ ” Leorio yells, his microphone slipping from his grip and clattering on the stage. He leaps off the stage and bolts up the steps. His lanky legs can’t move fast enough.

 

             “Holy shit! You had me so worried!” He can feel tears leaving hot tracks on his cheeks but he doesn’t care because they’re happy tears. He can tell he’ll be crying for a while.

 

             Gon says nothing, but he too jumps into the air from the first step and descends towards Leorio, arms and legs open in a starfish shape. The two of them soar toward each other, like birds in flight.

 

             “Leorio!” he shouts joyfully, squeaking as he collides with Leorio’s broad chest. Leorio wraps his arms tightly around Gon – so tightly, in fact, that his hands nearly touch his own shoulder blades on the wraparound. Gon hangs onto Leorio and lets him cry onto his hospital shirt.

 

 _Thank God,_ is all Leorio can think. _Thank God history didn’t repeat itself. Thank God I got it right this time around._

 

             The force of his jump lands him squarely on both feet right back at the entrance to the hall.

 

             “I’m so glad!” he sobs. “ _So_ glad!”

 

             Gon giggles and replies, “Did I look that bad?”

 

             Leorio hastily pushes the image of Gon in the hospital bed out of his mind – Gon doesn’t need to know the gory details. It could traumatise him. Leorio’s seen it in patients before.

 

             He settles for, “Bad doesn’t even begin to describe it!” Not a yes, not a no. Neither a truth nor a lie. Kurapika would be proud of such a diplomatic answer.

 

             Leorio unwraps Gon from his torso and swings him around in the air, holding him under his arms. They both laugh brightly in the glorious untouchable space where no-one can hurt them.

 

             Morel intervenes then. “Leorio, stop. He’s healed now, isn’t that enough.”

 

             It’s all Leorio could ever want. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, nodding.

 

             Pariston leads a round of applause at Gon’s return and Morel pulls Leorio to the side while Gon is distracted, bowing to the crowd for the warm welcome.

 

             “Leorio, you can’t tell Gon that Killua healed him,” he warns lowly.

 

 _Killua did this?_ Leorio makes a mental note to ask the brat about it later.

 

             “Huh? Why not?”

 

             Morel’s tone grows more urgent. “You can’t tell him! For Killua’s sake, promise not to tell him.”

 

             Something isn’t right here, but now is not the right time to go asking questions.

 

             “O-Okay, got it.”

 

             Cheadle and Pariston are talking onstage, Pariston still smiling as if everything has gone according to plan. Leorio knows better, that there’s no way he could have predicted this.

 

             Gon is smiling and waving to the crowd when something else grabs his attention. He stares down in awe as a blonde woman and a man with an afro wave excitedly and point to Ging, who’s sitting beside them.

 

             Leorio hears Gon whisper, “Ging?” more to himself than anyone else.

 

             As quiet as Gon is, Ging still turns around and holds up his hand in greeting.

 

             “Yo.”

 

             Gon’s eyes take on that shiny, glassy look of someone holding back tears before he’s off like a rocket down the steps to meet his estranged father for the first time in his memory.

 

             A boy on a mission, he wastes no time in saying what he wants to say.

 

             “Ging! I’m sorry! It was my fault! Because of me, Kite turned into a little girl!”

 

             The rest of the conversation between the Freecss men continues with Gon giving a hurried summary of the Chimera Ant problem and apologising for Kite’s death, while Ging half-heartedly pleads with him to calm down.

 

             Leorio knows he should feel bad seeing Gon cry, but he actually feels… not happy, but certainly relieved. He’s glad to see Gon returning to his hyperemotional self.

 

             As Gon turns to leave, he turns back to his father and asks, “Can I talk to you some more later?” and his thin voice belies all the softness he tried to hide. It breaks Leorio’s heart.

 

             Ging gives some half-baked answer and gets heckled mercilessly for it. _Good._ Ging should know that the world won’t tolerate his trash behaviour, even if Gon does. Leorio snickers when someone suggests that Leorio punch him again.

 

             Piyon gets antsy and quietens everyone down for the election. Pariston asks Gon to pick between him and Leorio for the new Chairman. Gon turns back to Leorio and asks, “Chairman? Leorio’s running for Chairman?” with an incredulous smirk on his face.

 

             “Uh… then I’ll pick Pariston-san!”

 

             Gon’s answer surprises just about everybody.

 

             Pariston’s sparkly voice is just irritating at this point. “Really? Isn’t Leorio-san your friend? Shouldn’t you pick him?”

 

             “Nope, because Leorio wants to become a doctor, so he can’t be Chairman.”

 

             His reasoning is so simple innocent and so very _Gon_ and Leorio swears he could relive his own glorious ragged youth if he concentrates hard enough.

 

             “Oh, sorry, but I’m going with Gon,” Leorio interjects. “My vote goes to Pariston.”

 

             Morel follows Leorio out into the hall.

 

             “Leorio…”

 

             “I know.” _I’ll keep your secret. But I’m going to find out what happened one way or another._

 

             Gon follows soon after and the two walk side by side down the corridor after a brief interruption from Ging regarding Kite and his Nen ability. Leorio doesn’t understand a word of it, but he guesses what Ging has to say is good because Gon smiles warmly to himself.

 

             Gon and Leorio are alone together in the corridor, the only sound being the clack of Leorio’s business shoes and the soft _fwip_ of Gon’s hospital slippers on the floor. Leorio can see the other Hunters from earlier are waiting for Gon at the end of the corridor, presumably to bring him back to the hospital. Strangely, Killua and the black-haired girl aren’t there.

 

             Leorio stops walking. “Gon.”

 

             Gon looks up at Leorio expectantly.

 

             “What Ging said was wrong. Kite’s death wasn’t your fault. He died because he underestimated Pitou, not because you weren’t strong enough.”

 

             Gon’s still staring up at him with those big eyes.

 

             “I just… wanted you to know that,” Leorio almost whispers. “I didn’t want you to blame yourself.”

 

             Gon drops his head. “I’m going to apologise to Kite and then I’m going to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again. That’s the best I can do, right?”

 

             Leorio swears he’s looking in a mirror.

 

_I’ll never let anyone else suffer as I have._

 

_I’m going to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again._

 

             Gon walks forward quietly without Leorio at his side. Leorio isn’t worried. Gon is in good hands. He knows Leorio will always be here if he needs him. He has his other friends, and friends stick together.

 

             Leorio knows better than anybody that what happened with Kite will stay with Gon forever, whether he wants it to or not. That’s the thing about the past – it sinks it claws into you like a harpy. It blinds you with its beak at your eyes, causing misremembrance, sometimes to the point of amnesia. The past doesn’t let go of you as soon as you decide to let go of it.

 

             Leorio would love nothing more than to go back in time and make it so that Pietro never got sick. He would love to erase all those painful memories and replace them with more light, more time to spend with his best friend. He would love to be able to forget his past and never be weighed down by it again.

 

             But that’s impossible – even with Nen, there are certain things humankind can’t do –  and it’s unfair, too. It’d be unfair to wish Pietro’s memory away, and he’s not even sure he’d want to. Even with all the hurt he recalls, he can’t deny all the happiness they shared too.

 

             Leorio can’t forget what’s happened and he can’t deny the effect it has had on him. He’s forever shaped by his joy, his suffering, and everything in between. He is both refined glass and the marred cracks in its surface.

 

             Leorio knows there are dark times ahead, starting with asking Killua about how he cured Gon, not to mention finding Kurapika, but he can take it. The trials ahead will cause him much misery, and they will permanently change him. He’ll welcome the change – it’s the only way forward.

 

             With a newfound peace settling over him, Leorio knows he’ll be okay. He knows he’ll make it all through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me @ biquarial.tumblr.com


End file.
